


Forget

by hamish_adler_holmes



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Memory Loss, maybe eventual smut, memory recovery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-08-04
Packaged: 2018-01-26 19:50:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 11,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1700462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hamish_adler_holmes/pseuds/hamish_adler_holmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John get in a car crash, and John loses his memory.  Sherlock works to regain it back, and accidentally admits his love for John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> Right, so this will be multichapter but no promises that it will be regularly updated--end of senior year, getting ready for college, all that. So bear with me please <3 Ill try to update as regularly as possible.
> 
> If you have questions or feel like seeing me ramble on for ages about Johnlock then follow me on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/johnxlock) x

It was another day in Baker Street, John fixing tea and Sherlock sulking on the sofa.  He had huffed into the room, flapping his bathrobe around behind him, then flung himself onto the sofa where he had stayed, staring at the ceiling and biting his lower lip.  John had to keep himself busy to avoid staring at the man laying near him.  He had a wife now, and she was going to have a child--his child.  He needed to keep his mind off of the strange man he had fallen in love with so many years before.

Suddenly, as John was on his third cup of tea and growing increasingly frustrated, Sherlock cried out and jumped off the sofa. John, after mopping the tea up off his clothes, sighed and raced after him as they went down the stairs.  Only after they were in the cab did Sherlock start to explain himself.

"Lestrade just sent me a text.  The case is about a five, but really John, we've done nothing for  _ages."_

 _"_ Its been..." John glanced at his phone.  "A day.  We just finished a case yesterday and you nearly blew up the entire flat!"  He sighed and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.  "Seriously, Sherlock.  You're bloody insane."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow in John's direction but settled for silence.  John glared out the window, almost feeling bad for his sudden anger.  "Look, Sherlock, I'm sorry.  I didn't mean to upset you, it's just...with Mary, you know how things are."  He smiled weakly, shooting a poor imitation of a smile to Sherlock.

The other man shook his head.  "It's fine, John.  I understand.  If you don't want to come on the cases anymore--"

"No!  God, no, that isn't it.  The cases help me, I finally understand what you mean when you say they're so wonderful.  It's just...a lot on my mind and I keep snapping at you.  I just wanted to apologize."

Sherlock narrowed his eyes.  "You  still feel guilty.   About her shooting me."

John worried at his bottom lip and shrugged, not meeting the other mans eyes.  

"John, please--"

Crash.

Glass breaking, metal bending and snapping, and the screams of the people in the car.  Sherlock felt himself being thrown around, heard John gasp out in pain, heard a thud as something hit the door.  "John--" Sherlock gasped out, reaching out, before the car flipped once more and everything went dark.

\-----------------------------------------

Pain.  Everywhere.

Sherlock groaned, blinking in the light.  Someone was shining a flashlight in his eyes, and the smell of antiseptic was all around him.  He was in the back of an ambulance, and someone was asking him his name.

"Sherlock Holmes--where's John?"

"Don't try to sit up, Mr. Holmes, or we will have to restrain you.  You may have a concussion and you're bleeding.  We need you to lay still-"

"John. John Watson, where is he?  I need to know if he's okay, I need to see him."

Through the haze, Sherlock saw the paramedics glancing at each other.  One nodded, and leaned towards Sherlock.  "He's in another ambulance.  He was hurt pretty bad, so they got him out as quick as possible.  A few broken ribs, a broken leg, and his head hit the window."

Sherlock closed his eyes, seeing it in his head.  John's limp body slumped against the door, his head on the window, cracks webbing out from behind his head and a slow trickle of blood dropping past his eye.  Sherlock let out a low moan and the paramedics attached an IV drip to his arm, and everything faded out again, John's name the last noise from Sherlock's mouth.

\----------------------------------------

More beeping, and hushed voices all around him.  The smell of antiseptic, and someone was crying beside him.  

Sherlock peeled his eyes open, his vision blurring for a moment before focusing on the room around him.  Lestrade hovered in the back, looking confused.  Beside his bed, clutching his hand, was Mrs. Hudson.  She let out a strangled noise as he moved, and he closed his eyes again against the pain.  He reached over, making a higher dosage of morphine drip through the IV.  

"Sherlock?" Mrs. Hudson whispered, patting his hand.  "Oh, dear, let me get the nurse."  She bustled out before he could stop her, and he sighed.  Lestrade grinned and moved closer, standing now at the foot of his bed.  

"You all right, then?" he said, awkwardly putting his hands in his pockets.  

"I'm fine, this is all so ridiculous.  Where's John?"

Lestrade chuckled, then sobered quickly and looked down at his feet.

"Lestrade?"

"He's--well, he got hurt worse than you."

"I am well aware.  Just tell me how he is."

"He's lost his memory."

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth, not knowing what to say.  "How much does he remember?"

Lestrade shrugged.  "They're still running some tests, but he's awake.  No, Sherlock, wait.  The nurses need you to stay calm, or they'll put you under again.  They just want to check on you, and then you're free to go.  Alright?"

"This is pointless." Sherlock growled, heaving a sigh and leaning against his pillows.  Soon, Mrs. Hudson returned with a patient looking nurse.  She fiddled around with some of the taps and machines, then patted Sherlock's arm.  

"All clear, hon.  Let me just--" she as cut short as Sherlock pulled the needles from his arm with a practiced manner--something Lestrade didn't like--and pulled on the clothes set on the table by Mrs. Hudson.  

"I'm going to see John." Sherlock said, moving with determination towards the door.  

"Sherlock..." Lestrade started, biting his lip.

"What?" Sherlock demanded, his hand on the door frame.

"He doesn't remember you."


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's first visit with John. Also, his first run in with Mary since John moved back to Baker Street.

Sherlock stood outside the room, his hand on the door handle.  He took a deep breath then flung the door open, wanting to get in there before he got too nervous and left.  

He was shocked to see Mary there, holding John's hand.  He had a dazed smile on his face, and she was looking relieved, but Sherlock picked up on some guilt hidden there.  She must have been aware of John's memory loss, and had taken the opportunity for him to 'forgive' her.  Sherlock's stomach flipped, and he clenched his hands into fists, shooting her a glare.  She glanced up and flinched at the intensity on his face, her hand twitching out from underneath John's, which caused John to frown.  He looked up at Sherlock and something flickered across his face.  

"Do I know you?"

Sherlock knew pain.  He had been shot in the chest, beaten, he had flung himself into a fire to save John--but there was no pain like what he felt now.  He took a step back as if John's question had been a shove, then tried to regain his composure.  He cleared his throat and moved over to John.   "I'm your friend, Sherlock Holmes.  I was there when the accident happened."  He sat down hesitantly in the chair by John, his hand reaching to touch the other mans before jerking back.  He cleared his throat again, glancing up at Mary.  "I assume you know what she is?" he asked, testing her.  She glanced down, her ears going red, as John answered.

"Of course I do.  This is my wife."  He beamed, looking at Mary with pride.  Sherlock felt himself tense up again, and Mary looked at him.

"I've told him all about myself, of course." she said, her voice wavering despite the confident gaze she had set on Sherlock.  He smirked.

"Oh, I'm sure you have.  Everything?" he asked, hand going to his chest where his scar was.  Her eyes followed the movement and widened a bit, and she gave a shake of her head so minuscule that Sherlock wasn't even sure he saw it.  

"Of course.  Everything."  She glanced at John, then patted his hand and stood.  "I'll let you two have a moment."  As she walked by, she touched Sherlock's shoulder in a way that looked normal to an observer, but her grip was strong as she leaned in and whispered,  _"Don't say a thing."_

Sherlock chuckled.  "Good to see you as always, Mary." he said, putting emphasis on her name and removing her hand from his shoulder.  She narrowed her eyes but moved out of the room, closing the door softly.  As soon as she was gone, Sherlock felt suddenly ill.  

Here he was, knowing all about John--all about his limp, his service in the war, the way he liked his tea, the way he always wore (hideous) jumpers--and John knew nothing about him.  It was a strange sort of pain in his chest, not unlike the one when Mary had shot him.

"So, Sherlock.  Is that your real name?" John asked, smirking.  He grimaced as he sat up higher against the pillows, clenching and un-clenching his left hand.  Sherlock noticed the small movement and knew the psychosomatic injuries would be showing themselves again.  "Sorry, that was rude.  They give you the strangest drugs here." He laughed to himself and looked at Sherlock, his head cocked to the side.  "Well?"

Sherlock stared, unable to believe that he would have to go over meeting John Watson again.  "Yes, it's my real name.  William Sherlock Scott Holmes.  And you're John Hamish Watson."  At this John narrowed his eyes.  "I know you hate your middle name, but you told me it once.  Well, I found it out."  He shrugged, waiting for a response from the man in the bed.

John opened his mouth then closed it again, squinting his eyes and looking pensive.  "Mary said you and I were flatmates."

"Are.  We still are."

"But she's my wife, why don't I live with her?"  John's voice had gotten louder and Sherlock glanced towards the window, where he could just see the top of Mary's head where she sat outside. 

"You two...had a row.  You needed a break."

John's eyes closed and he leaned against the pillows.  "She didn't say anything about that.  Guess she wanted to start fresh."  He opened one eye, fixing it on Sherlock.  "What did we fight about?"

Sherlock hesitated, biting his lower lip.  "She...told a lie.  And you were upset with her.  But you should talk to her about it, I'm not the one to ask."  His hand drifted up to his scar and it seemed to throb along with the lie he was telling John.  Mary was determined to do anything to keep her secret, and with John already out of commission as he was, he didn't know what exactly Mary was willing to do.  As proven before, she was not afraid to go to great lengths to save herself.

Sherlock smiled weakly as John raised an eyebrow.  "Right.  Well, who was the man here before?"

Sherlock cocked his head to the side.  "Who?"

"He said his name was Greg."  

For a moment he was confused, then the name connected again and Sherlock laughed.  "Greg Lestrade.  He's Detective Inspector at Scotland Yard.  You and I helped him quite a bit."

The two lapsed into a silence that made Sherlock squirm as John continued to squint at him.  

"You don't remember me at all, do you?" Sherlock asked, his voice soft.  He smiled shakily and glanced down at his hands, surprised to feel tears burning at the edge of his eyes.  He, Sherlock Holmes, was crying over someone?  Mycroft would make such a scene.  He closed his eyes and felt a tear trace down his cheek, and he tried to hide it by leaning down to tug at his shoelaces.  But more tears followed and he stood, turning away and facing the window.  He blinked quickly, trying to stop the tears from happening, but they were persistent.  He touched one and when he pulled his damp finger away, he stared at it incredulously.  He heard the sound of a throat being cleared behind him and he turned to face John, his face flushing.

"Sherlock?" John asked quietly, extending a hand out to the other man.  As Sherlock stepped closer, taking the offered hand, he was shocked when John pulled him roughly down next to him.  He settled himself quietly into the bed and lay there on his back, not knowing what to say.  "Sherlock, I am so sorry.  I do remember some things--a violin, a flat, a pillow with a Union Jack on it--and there's this feeling.  Down in my chest."  John cleared his throat.  "I'm not good with this kind of thing."

Sherlock smiled and tucked his head against John's shoulder, happy when the other man wrapped a warm arm around him protectively.  "It's fine, John.  I'll help you remember."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading (: Feel free to leave comments, I love seeing what you all have to say.


	3. Three

Sherlock made his way home slowly, ignoring the rain pounding against his hunched shoulders. He leaned his head back, letting the rain clear his face. After he had left John, he had stood outside the hospital, fighting the urge to smoke a cigarette.  He ignored the taxi's idling by the curb and chose to clear his mind, even as the rain started to pour.  

As he banged into Baker Street, Mrs. Hudson came trotting out into the hall, her hands fluttering up to her chest.  "Sherlock?  How is he, how's John?"

"He's fine.  No really serious injuries.  He's, uhm..."  Sherlock blinked quickly, already ashamed at crying in front of John.  "He doesn't remember anything."  Mrs. Hudson's hands flew now to her mouth as she gasped, but she stepped closer to Sherlock.

"Are you alright, dear?"  

Sherlock pursed his lips and tried to nod, but his muscles disobeyed him as he shook his head angrily from side to side.  He heard a low keening noise as he fell down, sliding down the wall as he struggled to breathe.  Mrs. Hudson stood there in silence for a moment before stepping closer, kneeling in front of him with a hand on his arm.  

Sherlock clutched onto the fabric of her sweater, his face buried against her shoulder.  She shushed him, then put a hand on his chin to gently turn his face up so she could meet his eyes.  He tried to pull back, but her grasp was surprisingly firm.  "Sherlock Holmes!" she said, and his eyes widened in surprise.  "Listen, I know how you feel about him.  No, don't you dare deny it.  I know you love him, and I know he loves you.  You cannot give up now.  You are going to make it through this, and so is John, and he will be back here before you know it and you two will be off doing dangerously stupid things and you'll be fine.  Alright?"

Sherlock smiled lightly and nodded, sniffling.  He felt like a child, crouched down at the bottom of the stairs with his hands still tangled in Mrs. Hudson's shirt.  He bit his lip and she stepped back, smiling and kissing his forehead.  

"Now off to sleep with you, Sherlock.  You have a big day ahead of you, I'm assuming?  Going to see John again?"  Sherlock nodded, trying to duck his head to avoid the flush creeping across his face.  

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."  He kissed her head and slowly made his way up the stairs.  As he approached his bedroom, he couldn't seem to bring himself to walk in.  On shaking legs he made his way upstairs to John's room, where he stood in the doorway for a moment before slowly walking in.  He looked around, smiling to himself.  The drawers were neat and shut tight, the corners of the bed tucked perfectly.  He made his way over to the bed, sitting down on it gently and smoothing the blankets.  He lay down on his side, his face buried in the pillow.  For a moment he just lay there, and then he tugged the blankets around himself and tucked his head against the other pillows at the head of the bed, then he took deep breaths and inhaled John's scent.  He smelled like laundry soap and smoke and something entirely John.  He smiled to himself again as he drifted off.

                                ---------------

_John and Sherlock were in the cab again, and this time Sherlock knew what was going to happen.  He tried to call to the cabbie, tried to get him to stop driving.  He leaned over, pulled at John's arm, but nothing was working.  He felt as if he were watching from outside the car, and he saw the truck speeding up from the other street.  He screamed out John's name but--_

Sherlock woke, gasping, twisted in the sheets.  He tried to get up and fell to the floor with an almighty crash, and he was confused for a moment before he remembered he was in John's room and not his own.  He glanced around as he tried to get his breathing back to normal, and tried to wrap his mind around the dream.  In his dream, he had also seen the driver of the other car, and his heart beat faster at the memory.

Moriarty.


	4. Four

"John, dear, Sherlock is here to see you."  

John smiled, but the rush of emotion was something new.  "Right, send him in"

Every day since he had woken up, this man Sherlock was here.  This man who was apparently his best friend.  Though all he had done was sulk and make comments about people--but he said some of the most brilliant things.  John couldn't completely understand the strange way his heart beat when Sherlock smiled at him, or the way his breath caught in his chest when his friend touched his hand as he walked away.  It was something new--or was it?  

"Don't think too hard, John, wouldn't want to hurt yourself."  Sherlock's voice filled the room, making John's palms sweat.  How was he so affected by the man he knew nothing about?

"Yes, Sherlock, you're so funny.  What's that?" He asked, craning his neck as best he could to see what was tucked under Sherlock's arm.

Sherlock blushed, and held the package out to John, who took it.  "I brought you something from home.  Not only will you like it and hopefully it will prove that we are friends and I'm not just some random bloke, but maybe it could help you remember things."  Sherlock sucked his lip as he sat down next to John's bed, his knees bumping against the edge.  John smiled and started tearing at the blue paper, not being able to hold back the childish feeling of opening something on Christmas day.

He cocked an eyebrow when he pulled the paper away.  Tucked inside was a cable knit white jumper.  John picked it up, enjoying the way the fabric felt in his hands.  "I love this jumper."  He looked at Sherlock, who was smiling widely. "This is my favorite one, isn't it?"

Sherlock nodded.  He reached up and drew the scarf from around his neck, holding it out to John, his hands shaking slightly.  "Here, take this too.  You always seemed to like it, so..."  He trailed off, looking awkward.  John laughed and took the scarf and held it to his face, inhaling the scent.  It smelled of smoke, something slightly chemical, and something that could only be described as night time.  

"Smells nice." John said, reveling in the blush that crept up Sherlock's neck and spread across his prominent cheekbones.  John yearned to reach out and stroke that face, but he knew better.  There were some things that were coming back to him, slowly.  He knew that he must have loved Sherlock prior to the crash...but then, why marry Mary?  The woman who, when she was here, barely smiled and sent a pang in John's chest that had nothing to do with the broken rib.  He glanced up at Sherlock, who was still blushing furiously.

"Sherlock...why did I choose Mary?"

Sherlock felt the breath rush out of his chest in one mighty rush and he leaned back in his chair.  "What?"

"I mean...I feel something for you, and you feel something for me, right?  So...why did I--Sherlock?"

Sherlock had gotten up from his chair so quickly that it almost fell backwards, tilting for a moment on two legs before slamming into the floor as Sherlock went to his knees by John's bed.  "John, please tell me that I heard you right."

John smiled, reaching out a hand and tentatively touching Sherlock's face.  Sherlock sighed and leaned his head into John's palm, gently pressing a kiss to the soft hand.  "Of course you heard me right, you idiot.  Do you...have feelings for me, then?"  Sherlock laughed.

"Really, John.  As ever you see, but do not observe."  

John jolted, his eyes going wide.  At those words, he scooted to over as far as the small hospital bed allowed.  "Sit with me?"

Sherlock blushed and stood, moving to the bed then stopping to kick off his shoes and lay his coat over the back of the chair.  He was wearing a gray button up, and the way the buttons strained across his chest made John almost lose his train of thought.  He was brought back to reality as Sherlock tucked himself into the bed beside John, their legs tangling and their shoulders pressed tightly together.  At first, both men were silent, then John sighed and pulled at Sherlock's hand.  Confused, Sherlock let his arm be draped around John's shoulders before he seemed to understand and scooted himself lower, allowing John to rest his head in the space where Sherlock's neck and shoulder met.  John smiled, nuzzling his face against Sherlock's warm skin.  

Sherlock shuddered slightly, then moved a hand up and started running it through John's hair.  "You know, we never did this before.  It was always denying it, with the two of us.  Some people saw straight through, I think Mary may have."

At the mention of her name, John tilted his head to meet Sherlock's gaze.  "When are you going to tell me about her?"

Sherlock's smile fell and for a moment pain flashed there, but it was gone as quickly as it had come.  He sighed heavily and pressed a gentle kiss to John's head.  "In good time, I promise I will tell you.  Just...rest for now."

John narrowed his eyes at Sherlock but let it pass, not wanting to ruin the moment.  He put his head back against Sherlock's chest, and the combination of Sherlock's heartbeat and his hand going through John's hair sent him right off to sleep.  Later, when the nurse came in to tell Sherlock that visiting hours were over, she found the two men tangled together in that position, Sherlock still awake and gently stroking John's hair with a look on his face that made the nurse smile warmly before leaving, turning off the light and shutting the door softly behind her.


	5. Five

Light filtered in through the windows, dust dancing in the streams of light as Sherlock glanced drowsily around the room.  He moved and felt an arm tighten around his waist.  He glanced down and saw John there, his arm tight around his chest, and he smiled to himself.  He leaned down and gently kissed John's head, untangling himself from the arm around him.  He stood, stretched, and turned towards the door.

There, their eyes wide and mouths open, stood Mary and Molly.

"I--We thought you wanted coffee."  Molly said, after a moment of awkward silence.  Sherlock sniffed and took it from her, smiling tightly.  Molly grinned, her cheeks still flushed from the shock.  "That was...sweet."  She smiled again and walked out of the room, slamming the door a bit as she hurried off.  Sherlock turned and checked to see that John was still sleeping before turning back to a still confused Mary.

"Yes?"

"What the hell do you think you're doing with _my_ husband?"  She placed her hands on her hips, narrowing her eyes.  Sherlock laughed a bit to himself.

"I was here for him.  You weren't.  He needed someone, and he asked for me.  Now, he's sleeping, so if you don't mind-"

"I do bloody well mind!" she shouted, stomping her foot in a way that was almost comical.  Again, Sherlock turned to check that his friend was still asleep before grabbing Mary's arm and pulling her in close.

"You listen to me.  John does not need this.  I will tell him, don't think for one  _second_ that I will waver on that promise.  Now, if you know what's good for you, you will leave right now."  She tried to speak but Sherlock spoke over her.  "No!  You shot me, and I had to hide that from John.  I tried, I really did, but you know how I--I just couldn't.  You pretend like you pulled some big hero trick, calling the ambulance like that, but really, do you think that makes up for it?  I needed one  _because of you._ And now, John is here in a hospital room and it's my turn to be there when he wakes up and to be here when he needs someone.  Not you.  Now  _leave._ "  

Mary stared for a moment before turning and running from the room, slamming the door aggressively on her way out.  Sherlock took a deep breath and turned back, jumping a bit when he saw that John was awake.

"I...good morning, John."

"What the hell do you mean she shot you?"

Sherlock bit his lip, moving closer to John and sliding into the bed.  John raised an eyebrow, leaning his head up so he could maintain eye contact.  

"Sherlock...please."

A sigh in the quiet room and then Sherlock started talking.  He told John all about going to Magnussen's office, about Janine-leaving out the proposal- and then finally concluded with Mary's betrayal.  He watched John's eyes he whole time, also listening to the heart monitor in case of a sudden spike in John's heart rate.  Surprisingly, John stayed calm.  He never broke the eye contact, and when Sherlock was done talking he sat there quietly.

"She shot you?"

"Yes."

"And you let her because you thought....she was going to hurt me?"

"I couldn't let that happen.  I can't think about you hurt."

John sat there for a few moments, his breathing even, before he noticed that Sherlock's was not.  "What's wrong?" he asked, grabbing frantically at the crying mans hands.  "Sherlock?"

Sherlock shook his head.  "It's ridiculous.  I just...I don't want to see you hurt and I tried to protect you, so many times.  With Moriarty, with Mary, and I failed both times."  His hands covered his face as he shook. "I just want you safe, John.  Always."

John tugged gently at Sherlock's hands, then used his thumb to wipe at the tears covering the other man's face.  "Sherlock, look at me, please?"

Sherlock tilted his face up, meeting John's eyes with his own tear filled ones, and was met with an intense gaze.  John leaned in, his breath warm on Sherlock's face, before closing the gap and pressing a kiss to Sherlock's mouth.  

For a moment both men were still, then Sherlock gasped against John's mouth and his hand went to John's hair as he deepened the kiss.  He was vaguely aware of John's smile against his mouth, and the way that John was gasping against him.  They went on like that and Sherlock was sure he was dying because he couldn't remember if he was breathing or not--

The door flew open, and a nurse stood there, her chest heaving.  She gasped when she saw the two men then giggled and backed out, closing the door behind her, but it wasn't enough to stop the echoes of her laughter as she ran back down the hall.  John laughed, and Sherlock pressed their forehead's together.

"That may have to wait until I'm not connected to heart rate monitors, Sherlock."

"God, John, I am _so_ done waiting."  Sherlock gasped, then pressed in for another kiss.


	6. Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, guys! I can't believe people are actually reading this, much less enjoying it. So a massive thanks to everyone leaving me sweet comments because they're my favorite thing ever. I'll keep updating as regularly as possible.

Sherlock and John lay together, legs tangled and arms around each other.  Sherlock was running a hand through John's soft hair, and the smaller man had his face nuzzled into Sherlock's neck.  His breath was coming out in warm puffs and Sherlock had never felt more content. 

But of course it couldn't last that long.

As he was moving in to kiss John again, Mary stormed in.  She stomped her foot loudly, and John jerked awake and let out a pained gasp and huddled against Sherlock, gasping in pain as he tried to stop the fire in his ribs.  Sherlock whispered soothingly to him, rubbing gently at his back.  "Deep breaths, John, just breathe.  I know it hurts, I know, I'm sorry.  I'm right here."  He pressed a soft kiss to John's forehead as the other slowly got his breath back.  He smiled weakly up at Sherlock, nodding slightly and moving aside so Sherlock could stand.  

Sherlock moved towards Mary and went to grab her arm, but she jerked it away.  "No!  I will not let you do this."

"Do what, exactly?  Do what it is you can't?"

A sharp noise cut through the room as Mary slapped Sherlock across the face.  He stood there calmly, his face not changing other than the red hand mark showing against the skin.  It was John who protested.

"Hey!"

The room seemed to freeze as Mary stepped around Sherlock.  "John...please."

"No, Mary.  He told me, and I know everything."  Mary rounded on Sherlock, but John shouted again.  "Mary!  Stop.  Please.  Haven't you done enough?  I don't need you.  I don't _want_ you.  All I want right now is you gone.  I know it sounds harsh, it does.  But you shot the man I--you shot my best friend.  And I can never forgive you for that."

"The man you what?"

John flushed but put his shoulders back, meeting Mary's gaze.  "The man I love."

At those words, Sherlock felt a smile break across his face.  He seemed to float for a moment, finally hearing the words from John's mouth.  Mary turned, her mouth opening and closing, and saw Sherlock's smile.  She rounded back on John, tears in her eyes as she turned a brilliant red.  "You can't!  I'm carrying your _child--"_

"No.   You aren't."  Sherlock moved in front of Mary, blocking her view of John.  "It's not his.  It took a simple test, me asking David about the two of you, and I knew."

"David?  The bloke from my wedding?" John asked, his eyes wide.

Sherlock turned and nodded.  "Yes, John, and good one.  You're remembering some things well."  He winked at John quickly then turned back to Mary who was, once again, seeming to impersonate a fish out of water.  "The cats out of the bag, Mary.  You're done."

She took a step back.  "John, he's lying!"  She fell into the chair by the door and leaned back, her hand on her stomach as she panted.  "Please, John, you have to trust me."

"Leave."

All the color drained from Mary's face.  "John, you can't really believe-"

"I do.  And I want you gone, now.  Get out or I will call security."  John had his eyes closed and his good hand was up on his face, rubbing at his eyes.  Sherlock moved closer and lay his hand on John's arm, tying his best to comfort his distressed friend.  He wondered briefly if that was the right word, friend.  But he turned to Mary and tried to keep the smug look from his face. 

"You heard him, Mary.  It's time you go."  Silence filled the room again, one so loud and crushing and Sherlock felt John shaking underneath his hand as Mary stood, straightened her coat, and left.  The silence stayed long after she was gone, and Sherlock was too scared to turn and see John's face.

"Sherlock."  He turned, and his heart broke in two as he saw John.  His eyes were red and tears were on his face, and he had dark shadows under his eyes.  He looked so pitiful and broken, with the casts and tubes and monitors, and Sherlock felt a pang in his chest that seemed to stop his breathing.  He silently climbed into Johns bed again, pulling the smaller man against himself.  John's whole body shook with sobs mixed with gasps of pain as the movements hurt his chest.  Sherlock clung to him as tightly as he could while still being gentle, making soft sounds and kissing John's head.  The crying went on for what felt like hours and Sherlock almost pressed the call button for the nurse in hopes of something that would knock John out, but the tears stopped and John pulled away silently.  

He looked away from Sherlock, seeming almost ashamed.  Sherlock took John's chin in his hand and turned his head so he could make eye contact.  "John, are you okay?  Well, I know you aren't.  That was a spectacularly ridiculous question.  What I meant was, are you going to be okay?"

John nodded, sighing and wiping a hand on his face.  He pressed a kiss softly to Sherlock's shoulder, then his neck, then finally pressed his lips against Sherlock's.  The kiss was nothing like the desperate ones of the night before, of lost years and longing.  This kiss was soft and so sweet that Sherlock never wanted it to end, and he knew John felt the same way.  Sherlock pulled away and pressed kisses all along John's face, his lips picking up the salty taste of the tears.  

"I will never let her hurt you again," he mumbled into John's collarbone.  "I will never let  _anyone_ hurt you like that."  John pulled his face up again and initiated another sweet kiss, one that soon turned passionate.  Sherlock laughed against John's mouth and pulled away, rubbing his cheek against John's.  "Not here, love.  Wait until you can breathe without upping your morphine, okay?"

John sighed dramatically, causing Sherlock to laugh again.  He pulled John tight against him, reveling in the warmth and solidness that he had wanted for so long.  "Sleep, John.  You'll be better soon, and then we can catch up."  John snuggled closer, wrapping his arms around Sherlock, and his breathing quickly evened out.  Meanwhile, Sherlock stayed awake, his mind spinning.  

How did he get so lucky?  How was it that he, Sherlock Holmes, had found a friend--no, more than a friend.  Someone who loved him as much as he loved them.  Someone who would always be there.  He had waited for so long, only for John.  Everything else blurred when he was alone with John, and in the moments before the accident, before the confessions of love, when he and John were so close that their breaths mingled and the tension was almost visible but nothing could happen.  Mary had always posed a problem in the last few months before her secret came to light, and those months were torture.  John not in the flat, Sherlock alone in the middle of the night when the nightmares came.  But now John would be back, with him.  Always John.

Sherlock smiled and pressed his lips against John's forehead before slowly drifting to sleep and getting the second dreamless night in months.


	7. Seven

\--two weeks later--

John and Sherlock sat together in the back of the cab, holding hands and smiling at each other.  "It's like some shit romance story," John mumbled, but kept his hand in Sherlock's.  

They pulled up to the flat and Sherlock led John up the stairs, checking back at him to see his reactions.  John was running his hand on the wall, staring around.  Mrs. Hudson had dusted the flat and pulled all the curtains back, so light was filtering in through the windows.  She had left the books and papers lying on the floor and sheet music was scattered on the table.  Sherlock's violin was leaning against it's case, and John walked over and touched it gently.  

"You play, right?" he asked, turning to face Sherlock with a small smile.  

Sherlock nodded and moved towards John, placing a soft kiss to his cheek as he reached for the violin.  "I'll play something for you."

 John smiled and moved to the chairs in front of the fireplace, standing for a moment before settling into the red one.  Sherlock smiled to himself, turning his back to John as he tuned his violin.  After a beat of silence, he started playing.  He closed his eyes and swayed with the music, tapping his foot lightly to keep time.  He lost himself in it, coming back to reality as he pulled the bow across the strings in one long, final note.  He was breathing hard, he realized, as he turned to face John.  The other man was sat in his chair, half out of it like he had moved to stand, and his eyes were wide.  

"That was the single most beautiful thing I have ever heard." he whispered, standing and moving over to Sherlock.

"It was something I learned a while back and I think it must have always been your favorite.  Whenever I played it you would come in here with a cup of tea or your computer and pretend to ignore me, but I knew better."

John took the violin from Sherlock, gently placing it one the table and moving close enough that their chests were touching. One hand snaked up and tangled into Sherlock's curls, while the other wrapped around his neck.  "You're amazing." he muttered, pulling Sherlock down into a rough kiss.

Taken a bit by surprise, Sherlock froze for a moment before wrapping both arms around John's waist and turning him so he could be lifted onto the table, erasing the awkward height difference.  John took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, almost knocking Sherlock off his feet as he fought to gain control of it.  He opened John's mouth with his own and ran his tongue along John's bottom lip, enjoying the shudder it drew from the other man.  John wrapped his legs around Sherlock's waist and pulled him as close as he could, Sherlock's legs pressed almost painfully against the table as he leaned into the kiss, and he let out a soft moan that made John gasp and laugh a little.  Sherlock growled, lifting John once again and turning him so he was pressed against the wall.  

John gasped as he was pushed against the wall, and tilted his head back as Sherlock kissed his neck.  "Sherlock, you are amazing."

The words had some effect on Sherlock, he could tell, because the other man let out another growl from deep in his chest and reclaimed John's mouth.  In between kisses, John muttered words that made Sherlock deepen each kiss until they were both gasping loudly, trying to draw air in through the desperate kisses.  Sherlock pulled away, breathing hard as he looked into John's eyes.

John reached a hand up and stroked Sherlock's face.  "Gorgeous."

Just as Sherlock was leaning in for another kiss, the door banged open and Mrs. Hudson trotted in with a tray stacked with tea cups and sandwiches.  "Oh!" she gasped, taking a quick step back.  "Oh, you two."  She was blushing furiously but smiling as she continued into the room, moving beakers and papers out of the way on the kitchen table as she placed the tray down.  "I knew it was only a matter of time."  

John was blushing as Sherlock let him down, and he stole one more quick kiss as he moved towards the kitchen.  "So sorry, Mrs. Hudson."

"Don't apologize, she could have knocked."  Sherlock tried for a tone of annoyance, but with his face flushed and his hair tousled beyond help, it was hard to take him seriously.  He smiled at John and grabbed a sandwich from the tray.  "Well, Hudders.  We're going to have to work on getting John's memory back."

She nodded, lowering herself into one of the chairs.  "John, how are you feeling?"

John giggled a bit and shot a look at Sherlock.  "Uh, better, definitely."

Sherlock flushed a bit but pulled a chair around to sit by John, placing a sandwich in front of the other man.  He casually draped one arm across the back of the chair, something Mrs. Hudson didn't miss.

"I always knew it would be you two.  But John, I can't hep but ask about Mary...?"

John bit his lower lip and thought about his answer.  "She lied to me.  She lied and she pretended to be something she wasn't and I can't do it.  Not anymore."  Mrs. Hudson nodded and reached across the table to pat John's hand.  The three were silent for a moment before Sherlock cleared his throat loudly, shocking Mrs. Hudson.

"Right! Ah, well.  Nice to see you back, John, I'll have your room made up..." she trailed off, shooting a questioning look to Sherlock.  He smiled, leaning in and boldly pressing a kiss to John's mouth as Mrs. Hudson tittered and left.  "Never mind that, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading <3 I'm graduating high school today, what?


	8. Eight

John jerked awake, gasping.  

Sherlock is in the room with him, sitting beside the bed.  "John?"

"Where the hell am I?  What the hell is going on?"  He jumps from the bed and runs to the door, pushing on it as a panicked sob escapes him.  Sherlock is still sat in the chair, but he gets to his feet and runs over to where John was slumped against the door, breathing hard between sobs.  He placed a hand softly on John's back, an action that was met with a shout of terror and John slipping from underneath him and running to the other side of the room where he started pulling at the windows.  

"John.  John!  Please, calm down, that window doesn't open and you're just going to hurt yourself."  John slid down the wall still sobbing, his hands shaking as the covered his face.  Sherlock walked over and slowly went down onto his knees in front of John.  "Breathe, John.  It's fine, you're fine, you're home.  I'm right here, I won't let anything happen."

John moved his hands from his face and leaned into Sherlock suddenly, nearly knocking him on his back.  He clung tightly to the fabric of Sherlock's shirt, breathing hard into the crook of his neck.  Sherlock moved his hands up to hug John as he tried to get his breathing back to normal.  It was silent in the room as Sherlock soothed the shaking man, and eventually the shaking subsided.  John stayed on top of Sherlock, his breathing even.  Sherlock smiled to himself as he realized John had fallen asleep, and maneuvered himself up and pulled John into his arms, placing him gently on the bed.  He stood there for a moment, looking down on him, before climbing in beside him.  John curled against him almost immediately, and Sherlock smiled.  He pulled John close, kissing his head.  

"I'm here for you, John.  Always."

\---

Sherlock mus have fallen asleep at some point, because he woke with sunshine in his eyes, and all he could smell was John.  He pressed his face into John's hair for a moment, inhaling deeply, before disentangling himself from his still sleeping--friend, lover?--and moving into the kitchen.  He padded around, setting up a kettle, finding biscuits and fruit.  He grimaced as he looked in the fridge.  Even to him, it was getting to be a problem.  He had spent so much time in the hospital with John that he hadn't been able to restock or empty the fridge, and it was now full of rotten food and miscellaneous body parts.  

Mrs. Hudson popped around the corner with a slight, "Oohoo!" and waved about a bag.  Sherlock smiled as he looked inside--fresh fruit, biscuits, some bread, and a new carton of milk.

"You're a lifesaver, Mrs. Hudson." Sherlock kissed her on the cheek and she patted him on the head before bustling out, closing the door silently behind her. Sherlock staid stood in the kitchen, setting up a platter for John.  

Once he was done, he put his hands on his hips and grinned down at the platter, proud of himself.  He grabbed the handles of the tray and moved to his room, where John was still laying in bed.  Sherlock closed the door gently and went to place the tray on the side table, and he almost dropped it when John made a noise.  

"Sherlock?" he grunted, his voice still full of sleep.

"Here, John.  I brought you food."  

John smiled, sitting up in the bed and patting the spot next to him.  "Thank you, Sherlock.  Sit with me?"

Sherlock nodded and climbed in, wrapped an arm around John and pulling him in close.  "What is it?"

John cleared his throat awkwardly.  "I just...felt like I should apologize for last night.  I was having some sort of panic attack and I'm sorry if I hurt you or scared you."

Sherlock shushed John, pulling him tightly against his chest.  "Yes, you scared me, and no, you shouldn't apologize.  It's fine, I understand.  They warned me, before I took you home, that you might have some attacks like that.  I just wasn't fully prepared for that."

John laughed a bit.  "I'm embarrassed. I was sobbing and banging on doors and...that was horrible."

Sherlock turned John to face him, taking his head between his hands.  "John Hamish Watson, you listen to me.  I am a ridiculous man.  I am an asshole.  And I love you, and you have no need to ever feel embarrassed about what happens because of something that we could not control.  Alright?"

John looked hard into Sherlock's eyes.  "Okay."

Sherlock smiled and leaned in, pressing his lips hard against John's.  The tray forgotten, Sherlock pressed John back against the pillows, straddling him and holding himself up on his forearms.  John lay back, his hands moving up to twine in Sherlock's curls.  He let out a moan, almost against his own will, and felt the smile on Sherlock's lips.

"God, Sherlock, I still don't know how you're so good at this."  John gasped as Sherlock moved down to his neck, one hand gripping at the sheets before Sherlock moved back to his mouth.  He raised himself up on his arms to meet Sherlock entirely, pressing their bodies together.  He gasped against Sherlock's mouth as one of the other man's hands went down to cup his thigh, moving up slowly.  He pulled away, burying his face in Sherlock's neck as he tried o get his breathing back to normal.

"I love you so much." he muttered as Sherlock rolled off, and he moved himself against the taller man, snuggling close.  "Thank you."


	9. Nine

After laying there for a few moments, exchanging kisses and grins, John ate what Sherlock had brought in on the tray while Sherlock got into the shower.  He emerged, in nothing but a towel, to find John waiting for him outside the bathroom.  He was caught a bit by surprise as John pushed him up against the wall and claimed his mouth again, all the sweetness from earlier now replaced with a strange sense of urgency.  Sherlock allowed himself to melt into the kiss, but when he felt a familiar warmth in the pit of his stomach, he pulled away as John moved down to his neck and chest.  He moaned and pushed John back so he they were and arm length apart as he tried to catch his breath.  He closed his eyes and when he opened them, he saw John's had a mischievous glint in them.

 _'Two can play at that game.'_ Sherlock thought to himself as he made a face and pushed past John, getting cold in just the towel and the cool air in the flat.  He heard John following him and ignored it, up until the moment when he was stood in front of his dresser and John was laying on the bed, one arm over his eyes.  He turned quickly to see if John was watching, then let go of the towel and put on his clothes as quickly as he could.  He heard John chuckling and flushed, turning as he buttoned his shirt.

"Pervert." he said, his voice almost a whine.  John stood and wrapped his arms around Sherlock, pressing his face into the clean shirt.  

John laughed and pulled away, standing on his toes to steal another kiss, then winked and padded off, leaving Sherlock confused and flustered, his shirt still partly undone.  He followed John into the kitchen a moment later, and found a cup of tea waiting for him.  "Thanks," he said, blowing on it gently and sipping it as he moved towards his chair.  He pulled his computer in front of him and checked his site and his email, but was saddened to find that there were no new cases.  Though he definitely enjoyed his time with John--and he could tell John was enjoying it too--he needed something to keep himself occupied.  At that moment, his phone rang.  He stood quickly and crossed the room in two steps, checking to see that it was indeed Lestrade before picking up.

"Case?" was all he said as a greeting.  He heard Lestrade laugh on the other end.

"Yes, and good afternoon to you too.  Had a bit of a lie in?  I've been ringing you all morning."  

Sherlock glanced at John and stifled a laugh.  "Sorry, I was a bit tied up.  What's the case?"

"Come down to the Yard and we'll talk there.  Tell John I say hi."  And with that, Lestrade hung up.  Sherlock sighed and rolled his eyes.  He moved towards the door and grabbed his coat.  John stood and followed suit, and soon they were out on the street as Sherlock hailed a cab.  John's face seemed pale and he was a bit more quiet than he had been earlier as they got into the car.  After a few moments, Sherlock noticed that John was gripping the seat and his eyes were closed.

"Oh, Christ, John, I am so sorry.  I didn't realize--"

"No, you're fine."  John gritted his teeth and opened one eye.  "I'm going to have to be in a these damn things anyways, I might as well get used to it now."  

Sherlock smiled and put his hand over John's.  The way there was silent and uneventful, John only wincing once as the cab took a particularly sharp turn.  Sherlock opened his mouth to shout abuse at the driver, but a look from John silenced him.  

They made it to the Yard safely, John nearly launching himself from the cab as Sherlock paid.  "Sorry about that." he muttered, flushing and now seeming embarrassed by his reaction.   Sherlock chuckled and gave his hand one more squeeze.

"You're fine, John.  It's understandable.  Are you sure you want to take this case?"

John smiled and pulled Sherlock in for a kiss that probably wasn't appropriate for a public place.  "Oh God, yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, it's been ages since I updated and I am so sorry. Also, this chapter is pretty shit, so bear with me. Working on the next one now. xx


	10. Ten

Sherlock and John walked into the building.  Sherlock inhaled, loving the familiar smell.  Beside the morgue, this was one of his favorite places.  The smell of coffee and the taps of keys, mixed with the occasional shout as a new case popped up, was strangely calming.  He smiled to himself and glanced over at John, who also seemed a bit more at ease.  He was shocked when John reached out and took his hand.

"Oh, everyone already knows.  Might as well." John muttered, and he squeezed Sherlock's hand. 

Lestrade, seeing them in the hall, rolled his eyes.  "If you two are gonna be all lovey, I'm kicking one of you out."  He gestured towards his office, and the three men made there way in, Sherlock and John seating themselves across from Lestrade.  "Right, well, a bit of a warning.  This one is a bit graphic."

Sherlock smiled widely, earning himself a dark look from both Lestrade and John.  "Sorry."  He flushed a bit.  "Go on then, what happened?"

"Well, this man, Adrian Carter, was found shot to death in his apartment.  Just one shot, straight to the chest, very similar to yours, Sherlock.  But he didn't get the attention you did, and he bled out on the floor of his home.  His wife found him, nearly had a heart attack."  He cleared his throat.  "But...well, John, I'm sorry, but when we dusted the place for prints we found some of Mary's.  When we went to check it out and ask her some things, she was gone.  You have any idea where she is?"

John's jaw had tightened at his wife's name, and he shook his head wordlessly.  He glanced at Sherlock, his eyes flicking down the the scar hidden beneath his shirt.  "I don't remember much of anything from before, so if she had a hiding place, I'm sorry but I can't remember right now.  I'll try to think about it, though."

Lestrade nodded.  He glanced at Sherlock.  "Can I have a moment alone with you, please?"

Sherlock stood, confused, and followed Lestrade from his office.  They went down a hallway, and Lestrade dragged him into a bathroom.  "Listen, Sherlock, are you and John going to be okay with this case?  I know it hits close to you, what with your own shooting, and it's Mary...I don't want to damage John any more than he already has been."

Sherlock nodded.  "It's going to be fine.  I'll tell you if either of us are getting too uncomfortable.  But you know John, he's all about saving the life.  He'll want closure for the wife.  Me, on the other hand, I just want her caught."

Lestrade squinted.  "There's something you aren't telling me."

Sherlock was shocked but he answered anyway.  "I--yes.  I just...when John was in the hospital, I was having these dreams, and they seemed very vivid.  In the dreams, I was reliving the crash, but the driver was..." he faded off, looking at his shaking hands.  "It was Moriarty."  He looked back at Lestrade, and he could feel his entire body shaking now.  "But it can't be.  He's dead, isn't he?  Does any of this make sense?"

Lestrade smiled and put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder.  "Sherlock, calm down.  You had a traumatic experience.  You were worried about John, your mind was just playing tricks on you.  Okay?"  Sherlock nodded and gave Lestrade a tight smile.  

"Thank you.  Do you mind if I have a moment?"  Lestrade patted him on the shoulder once more and left, leaving Sherlock stood staring into the mirror.  He looked into his own eyes, and he saw his pupils were enlarged and his hands were still shaking.  He knew the dreams were just memories.  He also knew that meant he was losing his mind.  He closed his eyes and gripped the sink, trying to breathe.  Moriarty couldn't be back, he had blown his own brains out.  So that meant his mind was only partially playing tricks on him, he had to think logically.  Someone like Moriarty, someone connected to him-

With a sharp gasp, his eyes flew open and he felt as if he had been physically pushed as he stumbled backwards, slamming into the wall.

Mary.  Mary was working with Moriarty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you guys like this x Im shit with writing cases though, I'm sorry! Bear with me, I promise things will fix themselves. This summer's been crazy to say the least.


	11. Eleven

Sherlock splashed some water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror.  His eyes were blank, and that was what he was aiming for.  John couldn't know, not yet.  He had been betrayed enough already.

But wouldn't lying be a betrayal of his own?  Sherlock groaned and leaned his forehead against the cool marble of the sink, his hands over his head.  He had to figure things out, and quick.  A knock sounded on the door and he almost jumped out of his skin.  He stood and took a deep breath, turning to unlock the door.  John stood just outside, his face full of worry.  Sherlock tried to work up a smile but knew all he showed was a strained grimace, so he stopped.

"What's wrong?" John asked, grabbing Sherlock's hand.

Sherlock shook his head.  "Nothing.  Just...tired.  A bit of a headache, actually."

"Do you want to leave?"

"No, I'll be fine."  Sherlock cleared his throat and moved out of the bathroom, leading John down the hall.  "Are you going to be okay doing this one?"  Out of the corner of his eye, Sherlock saw John clenching his hand and then shaking it out as he nodded, and he knew it was a lie.  He took the hand, smoothing it out.  They were in an empty hall, and Sherlock pulled John close.  "John, I'm so sorry."

John leaned into the embrace, his arms wrapping around Sherlock and gripping the thick fabric of his coat.  He shook a bit, his breath coming out raggedly, and Sherlock pulled away.  He leaned down a bit, almost crouching so that he and John were at eye level.  

"It will be okay, John.  I can promise you that.  I am here for you and I will not let her hurt you, never again."  He looked deep into John's eyes, searching for a change.  They were still brimming with tears, and Sherlock sighed softly as they closed.  He leaned in and softly kissed each eyelid, then cheeks, then to the corner of John's mouth.  John turned into the kiss, forcing Sherlock's mouth open as he ran his tongue along the bottom lip, and Sherlock felt a shudder go through him.  He sank down to his knees, taking John with him, and they kissed for a moment before John pulled away, burying his face in Sherlock's neck as he cried.

Sherlock shushed him and rubbed his back, muttering nonsense words to comfort the shaking man.  After a few moments John pulled away, his face red.  Sherlock smiled softly and pulled him to his feet, taking his hand and leading him back to the bathroom.  John leaned against the sink while Sherlock patted his face dry then used a paper towel with cold water to wipe away the tears and bring down the redness.  The whole time, both men were silent.  When they moved away, all evidence of John's breakdown gone, he pulled Sherlock into a tight hug and kissed his cheek.

"Thank you, Sherlock."

 --

If Lestrade noticed the way John was acting, he said nothing.  He told the two about the case, then handed Sherlock the case file and sent them home.  Sherlock muttered a thanks and left, his hand still in John's.  They hailed a cab and again, they were both silent as they headed home.  John was no longer tense, but when they went around a sharp turn or hit a bump, John gripped Sherlock's hand like it was a life raft.

They went up to the flat and John stood in the middle of the room, breathing hard.

"John?" Sherlock said cautiously, stepping closer.

"Just...give me a moment."

Sherlock nodded and moved into the kitchen, digging for two clean mugs to make tea.  After a few moments John joined him, his jaw clenched.  He stayed silent for a while but then, as if he exploded, words poured out of him.

"Why is it always me?  I lose my wife, my child, my fucking memory.  And nothing is getting better.  Things are just getting progressively worse and now my wife is a  _murderer-"_

He stopped, breathing hard, clenching his hands.  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, and Sherlock looked on warily.

"I'm just so tired, Sherlock.  So tired of everything."  He opened his eyes and they were dull, and Sherlock's heart almost stopped.  He took a step forwards, but John shook his head and stepped away.  "I need a bit of time to think.  I love you, Sherlock, but this is something your science can't fix."  He smiled and it was so sad that Sherlock almost fell to his knees, and John walked away, his shoulders hunched in.

Sherlock was left in the kitchen, gripping the counter for support.  He wasn't sleeping tonight, not with John in this condition.  He sighed and leaned against the counter, closing his eyes and trying to stop himself from panicking.  Then he went into the living room, grabbed his laptop and a chair, and sat just outside John's door.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading x Like always, feel free to leave comments (:


	12. Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I havent updated in so long. Ive been working on a few other fics and...maybe I started Supernatural and holy hell is it August already?
> 
> My [Twitter](https://twitter.com/sirentrash)
> 
> My [Tumblr](http://angelicgays.co.vu/)

Sherlock was nodding off, and he cursed himself mentally.  Why, on this  _one_ night, was his body telling him he needed sleep?  He sighed and stood, stretching and groaning.  He looked at John's door and peeked in, checking on his sleeping partner.  He was breathing evenly, his back to the door.  Sherlock closed it silently and bit his lip, deciding to go and make himself a cup of tea.  When he went back, the door was open and John was standing in the doorway, looking around with wide eyes.  Sherlock put his mug on the floor and hurried to his side.

"What is it, what's wrong?"  He touched John's face gently, staring into his eyes to find out what was going wrong.

"Nothing, I just...I woke up and I was alone."  He looked at his feet.  "I'm sorry I snapped at you earlier, Sherlock, but I was so wrong.  I can't be alone right now."  He stepped closer, leaning heavily against the taller man.  "Please stay with me?"

Sherlock nodded, wrapping his arms around John silently.  He took the doctor's and and led him into the room, laying softly on the bed and pulling John down beside him.  John immediately curled himself around Sherlock, pressing his face into the other's chest.  Sherlock kissed the top of his head and stroked his hair, humming softly to himself.  After a moment, John leaned his head up and pressed a kiss to Sherlock's mouth.  

"What was that for?" Sherlock asked as they broke away.

"Thanking you."  He smiled up at Sherlock and tucked his head back against his neck.  "What was the song you were humming just now?"

" _Unintended_ by Muse."  John laughed, his breath huffing out along Sherlock's collarbone.

"I love that song."

"I know."

 --

John woke up and looked around, blinking in the light leaking in through the windows.  He tried to roll over but when he did, he got a face-full of Sherlock's chest.  He snicked to himself and scooted up the bed so his face was at the same level as Sherlock's.  He stayed there for a moment, enjoying the sight of the other man sleeping.  He had too much pressure on his shoulders, and John always liked to see him calmed down.  He kissed the sleeping man's nose and pushed away, knowing he wasn't going to wake him.  He padded into the kitchen, yawning and scratching his face.  

He made tea, trying to be as quiet as possible.  After he made it he settled in on the sofa, snagging his laptop and balancing it on his knee. He opened his blog and started a new entry, trying to figure out what exactly he could write.  He started typing, the words just coming to him.

He was so intent on typing that he almost didn't notice when a loud crash sounded from down the hall.  He looked up as Sherlock slid into the room-literally slid, he was just in socks and his trousers- and crashed onto the floor with a loud grunt.  John stayed there silently, staring at the man as he lay on the ground.  He jerked himself to his feet, his hair wild, and stared at John.

"You weren't there when I woke up."

John chuckled.  "Sorry...?"  Sherlock' hair was flattened on one side, and the other had his curls sticking out almost horizontal.  John tried, he really did, but after a moment he lost it.  He started cackling, moving his laptop and tea to the floor so he could lean over and clutch at his stomach.  Sherlock sighed and ruffled his hair, rolling his eyes as John continued to laugh loudly.  

John couldn't control himself as he slid onto the floor, wrapping an arm around himself and hitting the ground with his free hand.  Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he watched the man rolling around on the floor then started chuckling and slid to the floor beside him.  He leaned down to meet John's eyes and pulled his face up, pressing a kiss hard against John's mouth.  

The laughter stopped immediately and in seconds John had one hand fisted in Sherlock's curls, the other drawing him closer.  

Sherlock smiled and bit gently at John's lower lip, and the latter opened his mouth and let Sherlock in.  Their tongues tangled for a moment and Sherlock let out a moan, yanking John onto his lap.  The two men kissed harder and harder, until Sherlock pulled back and gasped for air.  John kissed down his neck, nipping and licking hard enough to leave marks. 

"You are mine," he muttered between kisses.  "You are the last good thing I have in my life and you are  _mine."_

Sherlock groaned loudly, and his hips jutted against John's.  John smirked and kissed Sherlock again, the kisses turning hotter and hotter and their moans growing louder-

The door banged open and there was a loud crash.  They broke apart to see Mrs. Hudson standing there, one hand over her heart.  At her feet lay a tray with broken tea mugs on it, and some biscuits now soaked in the tea from the pot that had tipped over.  She giggled and said, "Sorry boys." before stacking things back onto the tray and slipping out, yanking the door shut behind her.

Sherlock looked at John again, biting his lower lip to hold back his laughter but there was no stopping him once John's giggles began.  He pulled the smaller man closer to him and leaned back against the sofa, kissing his temple.

"You're okay?" he whispered, stroking up and down John's arms.

John shrugged, leaning against Sherlock.  "I think so.  Well, I will be."  He twisted around to press a chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips before snuggling close again, his tea and blog forgotten.  "You're helping, Sherlock.  Thank you."

"Anything for you, love"  Sherlock pulled John close, wrapping his arms around him tightly and pressing his face into John's hair.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, sorry this one wasn't much. Just wanted to get something out, I'm working on the next one right now (: As always, feel free to leave comments.


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